Enough
by Boris the Belligerent
Summary: Post HBP. Replacement for DH. Harry has a plan and it doesn't involve saving the world or destroying dark lords. He planned it and he planned it well. Who'll be the Saviour of the Wizarding World now?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter solely belongs to Ms. Rowling. No profit or infringement intended.

**Warning**: Mature sexual content and severe use of vulgarity.

Grammatical and spelling errors are all my doing.

* * *

**Prologue**

He planned it. He planned it well. In fact, it was so good that none of them, not even his faithful enemy, had the slightest idea. No, none of them knew that their Golden Boy, their Saviour, their Chosen One, the Boy who Lived, Harry Potter, was going insane. Insane. Nope, that doesn't seem to fit right. Mental better suits it. Yes, he was mental. He was bloody well out of his mind.

But Harry Potter couldn't care less. And he was proud of it.

The point is it just didn't matter anymore. Why? Harry hated questions, specifically that one. He'd been asking himself all his life. Why? Why? Why? But Harry had an answer now. He had the answer all along. The most honest answer he could ever come up with: Because the world was just _one big bloody wanker. _

Harry Potter. That name could've been ordinary, it could've been a name someone normally forgets at first encounters. It could've been as simple as Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, hell, even Dudley Dursley. But no, it just had to be swarmed all over everybody's heads. Every single kid just had to know that name like it was some fucking historical embeddings on a relic meant to be praised. Harry Potter just had to be the Boy who bloody Lived.

The Boy who Lived. Pathetic title. What if he turned out to be a girl? The Girl who Lived? Bloody hell, that was just… terrible in the most terrifying way you can express it.

No. He didn't want to be that bloody Boy who bloody Lived. He just wanted to be like everybody else. A boy. A _normal _boy. But no. Harry Potter isn't allowed to be normal. _No. _He had to have the most melodramatic life anyone could ever come up with. He just _had _to lose his parents at age one. _Then, _he just had to live with the worst mixture of obese and anorectic relatives, the _only_ blood-relatives he has left, so as to add that little spice of sadness in his childhood. But, of course, the drama just _wasn't _enough. He'd just had to be given a godfather with a tragic history whom, by the way, he'd also lost. And now, the one man he truly trusted, the only man he wished to cling on, is now dead. Like all the others.

Why were they all floating up the bloody clouds? Simple. Because they were Harry Potter's bloody family. And we all know who Harry Potter's supposed to be. Harry Potter is our hero. He's supposed to fight against that scary sadistic snake-man and make the world all bright and beautiful like a fucking miracle.

And that was it, that was all everybody saw. The golden hero with his beautiful golden title, shimmering for everybody to see.

And that's why Harry made a plan. A plan to fool everybody. A plan that will simply turn their little smiles to frowns. This time, Harry will be the one smiling. Not that there's anything to smile at what he's about to do. He knew that. He can almost predict the headlines of the _Daily Prophet_, he's just going to face the same media, the same scandals and rumors, which, this time, will ought to be true.

But Harry Potter didn't care. To hell what _other _people think. To hell with the Wizarding world. To hell with the _whole _world.

True, Harry's about to betray everyone who trusted him, everyone who believed in him. But hey, if not for that stupid prophecy, those people wouldn't be there at all. They can all go drown in the Pacific with their hopes and expectations shoved down their throats for all he cared.

So here was the famous Harry Potter. Mr. Golden Boy. Smiling to himself like the lunatic he is. All thanks to his special plan.

One particular thing Harry really liked about his plan is he didn't have to pack one bloody thing.

"Well Hedwig. It's up to you now; come with me," Harry opened the front door of the empty Dursley residence and placed the birdcage on the welcome mat. "Or go free." He said, unlocking the cage for the alabaster-feathered owl.

Dearest Hedwig only hoot at the deserted street of Privet Drive and glanced at her smiling master with wide, bugging eyes then back at the dimly lit lane. Harry felt a pang as his pet sprang off her cage and flew with wide wings. Harry could talk to snakes, but not to owls, nevertheless Harry knew Hedwig caught the idea of his plan. It was only common for Hedwig to go against it. Harry couldn't really blame her, anyone who's got a brain and a heart would surely leave him at this state of mentality.

Then again, his smile came back as soon as it left. And so did Hedwig. The bird, now having a rodent between its beak, landed on Harry's shoulder and snuggled closely as she happily consumed the poor thing.

"You do know he's going to kill you too, don't you?" the owl only scuffed her head on her wings, as if shrugging to Harry. "Alright. Come on. Let's get you fed, we've got an hour before the Order arrives."

"And we better not be here when they do, don't we?" with that, Harry Potter closed the door and fed his owl, giving himself the pleasure of eating a feast of leftovers the Dursleys had forgotten about. It wasn't all that bad. At least he didn't have to sneak down to get bits and bits to stop the starving. No, not this time. This time, he's going to act as though the place was his.

After a well-stuffed dinner, Harry honored himself one last tour of the house. As he swept to each room, he invited a memory or two of the misery and hopelessness that suffocated him dry before. Memories he'd tried hard to ignore, to forget. It was easier recalling them than pushing them away. All Harry's worst memories were lingering here, they still had that thick stench of cruelty. And as Harry Potter entered the cupboard he once lived his young life in, itching from the sturdy dusts and aching from the lack of space, he felt the need to weep a few tears for that child. Yes, that child was still here, still haunting the ragged blankets, still deepening the words he'd carved on his little room. _Harry James Potter, son of James and Lily Potter. _He'd carved it several times after his first term at Hogwarts, it had to be on a spot where that blasted aunt of his wouldn't notice but still could be visible for him to see and remind him of who he really is.

Touching the engravings on the ceiling did it, Harry didn't have to kneel up to reach it, he'd gotten bigger, all he had to do was stretch his arm. Feeling the wood and the marks of his name brought back that boy and Harry started crying. He wanted to reach out for this little Harry and just strangle him with a tight embrace and just tell him everything will be over, everything will be alright. But he couldn't, because if he did, he would be lying to little Harry. And Harry had enough of lies. He had _enough_ of it. The last thing he wanted was to lie to himself.

Hedwig appeared and glided on Harry's lap, watching those fat droplets fall down her owner's eyes with such curiosity that Harry had to laugh at her. "What'd you know, Hedwig, I end up where I came in ten years ago." said Harry, resting his head against his crossed arms. His worst experiences and memories sprouted here, in this very space where he'd spent lonely nights as a child. But Harry nearly wished he could stay inside, for he'd already conquered his fears within these four dusty walls; the spiders by the corners of the crooked ceiling who'd often cover him with their sticky webs, the white ants who'd nearly chewed away his toy soldiers, even Dudley's footsteps thumping during nights that often gave Harry nightmares that consist of a fat and ugly troll rummaging the kitchen fridge after ever late hour was no more but a sad echo. Hedwig hopped up Harry's chest and watched him. "I never thought I would even think of coming back in this dusty shithole." continued Harry, freeing his one arm to pet the owl. "But since I _am _going mental, it's only right I visit it one last time. Right?" green eyes gave a questioning glance at big, round, glowing ones. "Right." sighed Harry.

Five minutes later, and only half an hour before his Order rescuers arrive, Harry Potter came walking down the Dursleys' backyard, glaring at Aunt Petunia's dear flowers but started smiling as he opened the fence door, which, to Ruffus, is a welcoming entrance. Ruffus, an ugly bulldog with a nasty tantrum, loved to play with flowers and by playing, he meant demolishing. Ecstatic by the very though itself, Harry purposely left the backdoor open, just in case the flowers didn't reach up to Ruffus' delight. Aunt Petunia had a beautiful collection of expensive vases with those fancy flower designs in the living room. Ruffus would surely enjoy playing with those.

"Have fun, Ruffus." Harry muttered to himself with delight before mounting on his broom and disappearing under his Invisibility Cloak. "Ready Hedwig?" breathed Harry under the cloak, the owl only responded with a shuffle of her wings and tried to cling on the broom securely, scooting behind a bit to get a better stance beneath Harry's chest. Hedwig really didn't fancy falling off.

"Got my wand, broom, cloak… Hedwig," Harry quietly reminded himself, trying to avoid the feathery head of his owl. "And myself." He said finally. Seconds later, the Firebolt was airborne.

**:: :: :: :: ::**

Rubeus Hagrid appeared after lifting the Disillusionment charm and mounting off the motorcycle he'd used to take Harry with when the lad was just a tad size of his hand. Twelve others followed suit, either descending from brooms or alighting from thestrals. Not one word escaped anyone's lips at the sight they all held.

Fence door, open. Back door, open. House, empty. Harry, gone.

All eyes glanced at each other. Worried. Suspicious. Frightened. Confused. But one thought ran to each and everyone's mind; something was terribly, terribly wrong.

"Search the house, all the rooms." Moody first broke the silence.

"_Homenum Revelio." _A flash of light rose from the tip of Hermione's wand, and as the caster lifted her arm, the light became a luminous wave, rapidly dashing throughout the whole kitchen until it reached the corners. Everyone around Hermione began glowing, indicating all the humans present in the room.

Few of the men; Ron, Bill, the twins and Mr. Weasley vanished from the room and began scanning the rest of the house.

"Use the _Stealth Sensoring_ charm." Lupin advised before the others began roaming around the residence. "Any detecting spells you know of. Certain charms don't work on Invisibility Cloaks, at least, the kind that Harry has." He added before casting the spell himself nonverbally and, like Hermione, finding nothing.

"Call Figgs, he might be there, search her house too." Ordered Moody to Tonks who complied, taking Fleur and Kingsley with her.

"Blimey, where can the lad be?" Hagrid said after inspecting the back yard, seems the only place he could fit in rather than the kitchen. No one could answer or even make a suggestion.

"He's not in his room, but all his stuff's there. It didn't look like he'd plan on packing." said Ron after several minutes.

"What about his wand? His cloak?" Hermione received an answer she wasn't really hopping for. "Even Hedwig's cage is empty." Ron added after shaking a 'no' to the bushy-haired girl.

The other redheaded Weasleys all came back with no such luck as well.

"All the other rooms are empty, no clothes, no personal things." Mr. Weasley said, summarizing all the other boys' answers.

"Except Harry's…" Hermione muttered, her fingers began trembling furiously. Ron approached her and held them tightly and softly dragging her to a warm embrace.

"He's not there. We've checked all her rooms. Figgs said she saw him an hour before we got here." Tonks fell silent for a moment and thought about how she can elaborate the old lady's strange description earlier.

"Well?" barked an impatient Moody.

"Well… She said that she saw Harry standing in the front door with his owl. She said that it looked like Harry was setting it free but it didn't, it just flew out and back to Harry's shoulder… and then he went back in." The room and its occupants where all muffled with odd silence. Eyes were lingering at Tonks with strange looks and narrowed gazes.

"Did she hear anything? Any noise that might bloody explain why the boy isn't here?" Moody asked again, obviously not contended with what Tonks found.

"N-no." Tonks stuttered, the fright in her eyes clearly visible from Moody's temper. "She didn't." she whispered, feeling helpless.

"B—LOODY HELL!" almost everybody twitched from Moody's sudden outburst. The loud stomping of his cane still echoing the room.

"Get that bloody woman in here!" Tonks disappeared as soon as it escaped Moody's lips.

Minutes later, Mrs. Figg was seating at the Dursleys' kitchen. All twelve set of eyes starring at her, each running different emotions. Moody, she had to admit, had a pretty strong emotion. Mrs. Figg was nervous that his glare might melt her, metaphorically speaking, of course.

"Well? Speak up, woman!" Figg literally bounced from her chair.

"Moody, calm your damn temper, will you? It's not doing any good to anybody." Lupin just had to say. "Go ahead, Mrs. Figg, tell us what you need to tell us." He said after receiving a grumpy nod from a fuming Mad Eye.

"Al-alright. W-well. I— I saw 'im standing in th-that door over there." A wrinkly, quivering finger pointed at the front door. "He-he had his pet bird in a cage with him… and he opened the cage and—"

"Yes, yes, Figg. We know that bloody part already, did you hear the boy speak about anything?" Moody was practically red at that time.

"Well… I was looking outside the w-window. You can't really hear anything across the— the street with the window c-close." Mrs. Figg, the poor old lady, was literally jerking every moment Moody leaned closer with his swiveling blue eye.

"I checked the sensors. There hasn't been any intruders in the house since Dumbledore set it active." Kingsley interrupted as he walked in.

"Figg, did you see anybody else come in after that? Anybody passing by the streets?" Moody asked stiffly. The woman could only reply with a shaking head. "Not a noise? A sound? Any damn thing?" she responded the same answer.

"Merlin… Are yeh all tha' thick?" it was Mundugus who spoke. All twelve heads turn to him. "Even a bloody horklump can tell what 'appened."

"Mind elaborating on that?" said Bill, his face scrunching with disgust as he glared at the scruffy man. The scar viciously clawed on his face only made it worse.

"Don' 'ave to, boy. It's all glued on everybody's 'eads. Nobody just got the grits to say it ou' loud." The man walked towards the refrigerator.

"You're not saying that Harry left alone." Hermione started all of a sudden. "We had this planned. He knew we're supposed to be here to fetch him! He knew!" Ron was now trying to get a hold on a sobbing Hermione.

"Tha's right. He knew. Maybe tha's why he left."

"Why in bloody hell would Harry do that?" demanded Bill.

"Well maybe the damn boy had had enough. Ever think o' that?"

"Stop it, Flecher, you shut that bloody mouth of yours." Ron spat back, collecting Hermione within his arms.

"Wherever tha' boy is, one thing's for sure, he's stuffed." Mundugus smirked, swinging the frig door wide open for everyone to witness the empty bottles and containers.

"No. 'Arry couldn't have ran off. Why would he?" Hagrid began.

"Me'be hez wid othzer neighbrz?" Fleur suggested.

"But why would he leave the house when he knows we're coming for him?" said Fred.

"Fred's got a point there." George added. "So did Krecher, he's a git and all, but he's right. What if Harry left on purpose?"

"Where are you going with this, George? You think Harry ran off because he's given up?" Mr. Weasley said.

"What if he did, dad? I mean, we have to consider the facts, don't we?" replied George. "The house is empty. No wand. No cloak. Food's gone. For all we know, Harry might be halfway out of Surrey by now, on a bus or some muggle car."

"Or a broom." Fred added, causing all eyes to shot his direction.

"His broom. Ron, did you see his broom?" Hermione said suddenly, her fingers clinging tightly on Ron's sweater.

"I— I didn't notice." Ron stuttered, feeling uneasy with the sudden flick of attention. "I'll go look." He said before sprinting off the room.

"Question is why did he leave without us." It was Tonks who spoke. "He might have other reasons than… that." She added, gesturing to George.

"It's not there." Said Ron after walking back the room. "I've tried summoning it, no luck."

"Look, wherever he is, we have to find him." Lupin noted. "It doesn't matter why he left. There're other possibilities, he might've tried leaving the house and got snatched by whoever."

"I just don't understand…" Hermione murmured, her eyes glittered tears. "I don't understand why he would just leave."

None of them did. Just as Harry planned. And he planned it well.

* * *

Reviews and criticism are encouraged.


	2. Chapter I

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter solely belongs to Ms. Rowling. No profit or infringement intended.

**Warning**: Mature sexual content and severe use of vulgarity.

Grammatical and spelling errors are all my doing.

* * *

**Chapter I**

By the empty streets of forgotten stores and boutiques, the shallow sign of the Leaky Couldron creaked. Few wanderers who pass by fail to either notice or hear the sign and the sound it makes, even the boy hovering on a magical broom with an owl on his shoulder escaped their attention.

"Alright, Hedwig, we're here." whispered Harry as soon as a coated man disappeared to one corner. They dashed above the roof of the pub and searched for the courtyard, pausing a moment at the second floor window to discern the owner, Tom, snuggling himself under comfortable sheets and drowning with tired snores minutes later.

"Off of it, Hedwig." said Harry, gesturing Hedwig to his shoulder after they'd landed on the cemented enclosure.

"_Reducio._" Harry muttered thrice until his Firebolt was as tiny as his forefinger and placed it safely in his front pocket. Pulling out his wand, Harry stared up the front concrete wall and tried recalling the first time he'd been here with a certain massive friend of his.

"Under the cloak again, Hedwig." He said before lifting the cloth against there heads. "Alright there, Hedwig?" the owl answered with a tussle of her feathers.

"'Kay. Three up…" Harry pointed as he began counting. "Two across…" and just like that, the bricks began rearranging itself into the all-too-familiar archway Harry had been through almost seven years ago.

The twisty streets of Diagon Alley became a less appealing sight than Harry could recall years ago. The whole town was abandoned apart from the foggy mist clouding the demolished stalls and shops_. Godforsaken_, thought Harry, _like the rest of the Wizarding world_.

"All we have to do now is look for Knockturn Alley." Harry murmured under the cloak, his eyes swiveling to every direction. Some shops had shattered glasses and broken doors. Others had been vandalized with names and signs such as; "V", "D. E." and forgery of the Dark Mark.

In one corner, noises of heavy footsteps and lashed laughter caught Harry's attention. There, just a turn away from the broken windows of Flourish and Blotts, was the sign that held the name of Harry's desired location.

"Knockturn Alley." Read Harry before striding forward to the shadow-filled pathway. Drunken and pongy men lingered the crooked junctions, some were cloaked, hiding their faces, some were gushed with blood, seemed to have been beaten and thrown out. The rest scowled grimly, mumbling secretly to themselves. Harry barely glanced at them as he passed by, Hedwig mimicked his master and froze herself against her owner's shoulder.

"How to get in." Harry thought to himself, leaning by the wall opposite Borgin & Burkes. He couldn't use magic, few days still stood before he's legally aged and he wasn't really in the mood for having a circle of Aurors surrounding him, let alone, Death Eaters. "Ow, Hedwig, your claws." Harry tried soothing the owl's gripping talons and felt her feathers fidgeting from the rapid wind. The air was getting frigid every passing minute. Finding it inappropriate to leave his pet, as well as himself, in such a cramped position, Harry hid himself in a shadowed corner just so to avoid the rapid currents of dead-freezing gale.

By doing so, the boy accidentally tripped to a small mountain of jagged rocks pilling on the ground which, in truth, actually did him good rather than damage his feet because moments later, you'll find that said rocks where thrown viciously against those horribly smoggy windows. It was bound to jolt the owner awake and alarmed.

As Harry predicted with a victorious smile, there goes Mr. Borgin, stomping out and muttering annoyingly. Harry patiently waited for his cue, but failed to do so when Hedwig found it a just time to crow and groom her wings by flapping them furiously.

"Mpf!" Harry held the scold, as well as his owl's beak, tightly as quick as the man narrowed his eyes to his hiding spot. Unfortunately for him, Mr. Borgin wasn't the sort to be fooled. Harry inched back a little, Hedwig secured on his arm, and prayed the man won't come any closer.

"_Lumos!_" the flash of green light startled a few rats that instantly scampered off in holes. As Mr. Borgin scanned the seemingly empty dead end, Harry held his breath and finally blew an exhale after the scowling owner turned away. Thankful that the man decided to search other ends and corners, Harry swiftly scurried in the dark emporium before hearing a muffled curse about certain ungrateful squibs roaming around from Mr. Borgin and the door sealing shut.

"_Reparo._" cast Mr. Borgin and his demoralized window was fixed. Harry took off his cloak after hearing the fading echoes of the man's footsteps and a faint bang of a door closing.

"You almost got us caught there!" muttered Harry in a stifled voice to the bird. "If I can't keep you quiet… Then I'll have to make you." Harry sighed, pulling out his wand.

"_Silencio._" Hedwig opened her beak after a faded streak of light slithered from the wand's tip and found no sound from her attempts. "Sorry Hedwig." sighed Harry before petting the muted owl.

Harry collected himself, brushing off dusts from the cloak and his clothes and wiping off the smudge from his spectacles before scanning the room filled with notable items and artifacts made for lethal purposes but sod off of it as soon as he was reminded of his own purpose in coming here.

Seeing the fireplace curved another smile of success for Harry but then fell into a frown after noticing that there wasn't any Floo canisters around.

"Well that's just bloody great." murmured Harry with a huff. He'd searched the store twice and still couldn't root out the Floo. _It's either there isn't any or it's somewhere hidden other than where I'm looking,_ Harry thought with a scratch on his monstrous hair and plump himself on the floor, seriously opting if he should look inside other rooms, which seemed to be few judging from the compact size of the shop, or find another way to reach his destination. Either way, he was surely going to risk himself.

Yet before Harry could decide, the sound of blazing fire erupted just a few steps away. By instinct, Harry grabbed his cloak, and with Hedwig between his crossed legs, concealed them.

Draco Malfoy was a sight worth looking with wide eyes, for Harry's case, that is. It was rather unexpected for Harry to see a schoolmate all of a sudden, not that Malfoy was someone to see but watching the blond stride with great pride towards the counter, Harry felt a rumble of emotions erupting. Starting from this very hour, Malfoy is no classmate or school rival anymore, but an enemy, an enemy he was bound to eliminate not with insults or cutting remarks but hexes and spells, that will be the case _if _Harry hadn't made his special plan and like he promised, it was going to fool _everybody._ Even snappy Malfoy.

"Young Mr. Malfoy, I reckon this is no ordinary visit, seeing as that you find it a need to settle it in such a late hour." slurred Mr. Borgin, obviously disgruntled for being disturbed twice in one night.

"Yes. The Dark Lord wishes to attend his private dealings in a confidential and secured manner." the pale boy said dignifiedly. Creeping carefully to eavesdrop, Harry couldn't help smiling at the sight of Malfoy's famous sneer. He _would _miss that.

As if been petrified by the title Malfoy spoke of, the eyes, which was heavy and drained earlier, now popped awake and vigilant. It was quite distinct to spot that Mr. Borgin had great, if not anxious, respect for the said costumer the boy before him mentioned.

"Well, yes, yes, anything for the Dark Lord." the man suddenly said, scrunching away any patch of drowsiness from his voice and straightening up. "If it's about the Vanishing Cabinet, you can tell his greatness that it's all been taken care of. I've already transported it to the inscription you've given me. In fact, I'm confident to say –" Mr. Borgin's words, which Harry thought was rather boastful, was silenced as Malfoy interrupted sternly.

"Yes, yes. The Dark Lord is pleased with that." Malfoy jeered, Harry couldn't help breathing out a strangled chuckle at the mocking state he, himself, was so accustomed to. "But no, I'm here to convey other orders, actually. You see, word has spilled that you possess a rare device equipped to… accommodate personal urges." hissed Malfoy, his voice lowering in a peculiar way that Harry couldn't even force his eyes off those parting, fresh lips.

"D-device? I know nothing of devices you speak off." stuttered the man, even in just a glance, Harry could spot the sudden flare of desire erupting from the man's rapid breaths. Alas for Mr. Borgin, Malfoy had a taste he could never level, seeing as that the pale boy responded with a disapproving twisted scowl.

"If I didn't know any better, Borgin, I'd say you're mocking the Dark Lord's needs, let alone, his name. If that will be the case, then I find it needless to think of you worthy of serving him, and I assure you, so shall he." Before Malfoy could turn away to extend the portrayal of his threat, the man had already Apparated himself before the blond, begging on his knees.

"No! No! Young Lord Malfoy, please! Please! I praise the Dark Lord's name, I support him, even if it costs my life, I shall, in spite of it!" the kneeling man pleaded desperately, shaking at every word. The wooden surface under Malfoy's feet creaked as he bend down ever so slightly, the invisible boy beside him heedlessly sighing as emerald eyes hovered dangerously down those tightly strained-clothed arse staring back at him. _Boy, Malfoy sure likes to dress skintight trousers, _Harry thought vaguely and thought why he just thought that.

"Do you now…?" scoffed Malfoy, his thin lips curling into a demonic sneer, seemingly enjoying the discomfort and fear swallowing the man before him.

"You're loyalty impresses me, Borgin, and if it continues to do so I might just think of zipping my lips." said the blond, gesturing two slender fingers to slide across those pink, fresh lips, making the men, both visible and invisible to stare with awe and constrained want. "Yet now, I find it degrading and terribly useless if you don't get your blasted arse off the floor and assist my Lord's request soon." and with that, the man was off in a poof of a smoke, his brisk footsteps echoing from the basement.

Harry watched and had to mimic the delicious smile printed against Malfoy's glowing face. His hormones were quite jumping into certain portions of his body which he didn't feel right attending to right now, even though Malfoy looked and smelled so tempting.

No surprise for Harry there, it wasn't quite easy masking off his true self from the whole world. It was even harder secluding his secrets from people within his inner circle. Ron and Hermione are few of the people he included trustworthy, but even they aren't accounted for with this secret. No, only he, and he alone, was granted the knowledge and he chose to remain it that way until he finds himself a proper partner, which will never happen ever since, like he said earlier, he was going utterly insane in several ways than one.

Malfoy, sure, he's one of the bastards who made his life a living hell. But it didn't stop him before, Malfoy does have that elegance of a bold, hardheaded stud and Harry had always had a thing with the bad boy personality. To be truthful, Slytherin owned most of the best looks and filthy arrogance. Harry remembered jerking off to the image of a half-naked Zabini all covered in mud, deliberately stripping off his gear on the pitch after a hard match they've won against Ravenclaw. Harry couldn't pull the binoculars off his eyes at that sight, he was sure he wasn't the only one watching with a hard-on that time. There was also Flint, yes, that boy practically banged him to an orgasm after Harry got lucky catching the chaser with a moaning Oliver Wood in the showers, all naked and wet with blood and water. Harry wasn't really into sadomasochists, blood didn't really look that attractive, pain was out of the question, having to fight for your life every now and then and all, but really, who wouldn't go off all the way to heaven for that provocative scene?

He never actually fantasized about Malfoy, he was too busy thinking hard of a better snide remark every time they pass each other in the halls or flying against each other during Quidditch matches, Harry never got the chance to look at the blond properly, he was always too focused with that familiar sneer and that boastful sarcasm he'd been so acquainted for a whole six years.

And now was a bloody good opportunity to catch up and Harry would be stupid to let it pass by. So, having only a few minutes gone by with all that thinking and still alone with the already impatient boy, Harry sneaked closer, gently careful not to emit any sound of footsteps, he was rather thankful for shoving off his shoes earlier after being convinced that it'll surely make too much unwanted noise. His socked feet slithered soundlessly from the dusty floor and finally he was inches apart from porcelain skin.

Harry's eyes glittered from the flawless texture of Malfoy's neck, unable to stop little trembles from crawling its way up his shoulders at the chiseled structure of Malfoy's radiant façade. The pale boy, deciding to stand straighter and examine something Harry didn't really noticed or cared at that time, forced a few strands of platinum bangs to shade down his eyes, it was only then Harry noticed how delicately velvety and fragrant Malfoy's hair was. The way his silver eyes sparkled from the dim light of the moon caught Harry breathless, this time, he was unable to hide a gesture of his utter admiration and blindly drew a heavy breath against Malfoy's neck, causing the boy to jolt in shock at the abrupt contact of warm air, a cream- colored hand snap up Malfoy's nape, soothing away what Harry noticed and made him smile, chills causing those small, translucent hair to stand.

The boy under the cloak was enraptured all of a sudden after seeing his long time school rival juddering from these faint exposures. Like a lion stalking his prey, Harry slithered behind the pale boy, so closely that he was sure Malfoy could feel the heat oozing from Harry's body. Hedwig, still unable to sound off, just watched, unaware why his master had this interest with the stranger. Harry hardly knew the owl was still tightly clamped on his shoulder, too engulfed with his new discovery.

Malfoy repeated his move earlier and snapped a hand up his nape after feeling that warm, sensational air. Truth be told, he was getting rather hot during the minute and it wasn't the kind that made him stingy and sweat.

"Borgin! I don't have all bloody night!" he began, irritated and even more pissed after only getting a muffled answer that sounded another full throttle of minutes of waiting. Malfoy, feeling quite uncomfortably with the bizarre change of temperature, chose to strip off that rather thick coat of his, which Harry respectfully dodged back with a grin, and waited for the freezing weather that seems to kill outside to eat him up. Harry was a bit disappointed seeing as that the boy still hid too much skin hidden with that sweater of his but caught back a delighted smile after Malfoy pulled up his sleeves, revealing a pair of nearly smooth, ivory arms. The one defect that, to Harry's immediate surprise and horror, made his trousers less comfortable and his hard-on all the more painful was the mark on Malfoy's left. The very same mark that had caused Harry to stalk Malfoy like a starved dog the year before.

The boy behind Malfoy seemed to have been dazed in such a foggy fantasy because Harry began taking a step closer, leaving only a grain of proximity between his prey, and started trickling his fingers lightly against Malfoy's arms, palmed down against the counter, stressing more attention to the black tattoo. Harry instantly drew back a few steps when the boy in front of him jumped and turned to look behind him. Harry watched amusedly as the blond searched for any signs that could explain these strange contacts. He almost felt himself harden more when Malfoy just decided to look forward, unknowingly gazing at Harry with deep, confused eyes while heaving breathes of panic.

"Merlin… the fuck was that?" Malfoy wheezed out after turning back to his usual position, protectively grazing his arms several times a minute to wipe off that heated feeling those invisible touches made.

At this particular time, Harry, out of fun, decided to slide down a finger from Malfoy's nape all the way down his spine, ending slowly at that little crack of skin below his hips. Again, the boy jerked away, howling himself up the counter and scratching away the warm trace Harry's finger left on his nape.

"_Homenum Revelio." _it was more of a whisper from Malfoy and a surprise for Harry, just only given seconds to see the blond with his wand out and that particular spell in the tip of his tongue gave Harry no time to ready himself, and just as the cloak blew away along with his pet rumpled in it,

"_Expelliarmus._" muttered Harry, able to pull off his own weapon as he was revealed.

"_Silencio." _After the spell was cast and Malfoy was left shouting "Potter?" with only air drawing out his mouth. Harry dragged him and thrust Malfoy's back against his chest. With a deadly grip, Harry managed to bind the boy's fighting arms with only one of his. _Looks like I didn't only outgrew his cupboard after all_, Harry thought smugly. He completely towered the pale boy fidgeting against his arms and felt this unique sensation of dominating the poor blond. He was poorly given a sad excuse of a height in his fourth and fifth year, recalling all those memorable times when he and Malfoy spent the day snapping each other, Harry always had to carry the burden of lifting up his chin, not to look prideful at Malfoy, but just to be able to look at him and it was rather annoying, seeing as that Malfoy find it so joyous to mock his short figure during those times.

Now, having the same boy clamped in a firm grasp, Harry felt the need to praise those few inches detaching him from Malfoy's shadow and rewarded himself his third triumphant smile which grew into a grin after sensing the boy below him shivering as he stretched his lips intentionally. "_Accio wand._" It was torture for Malfoy, Harry could tell when he leaned down the blond's ear, making sure his lips graze against the shell as he whispered the spell, enjoying the scent of expensive cologne radiating from that hollow space of Malfoy's neck as his fingers twirled against his rival's wand.

"Tell me off and you're dead." whispered Harry huskily before casting a Disillusionment Charm on himself and tapping back Malfoy's voice seconds away as Mr. Borgin appeared back with a large box he decide to carry himself. Large arms loosened themselves so as the slender and pale ones could move willingly. But Malfoy, as much as he was tempted to poke Harry somewhere painful, minded the two wands poking so near his left arse cheek. Harry, deciding to have a little fun before he walks to utter nuttiness, enveloped the petite Malfoy in a loose embrace and rested his chin just below the boy's neck close enough that his nose was lightly tickled by Malfoy's hair. Mr. Borgin, deeply occupied with managing the heavy package, failed to hear the gasp and gulp escape Malfoy's trembling lips when his captor wantonly introduced the discomfort pulsing in his trousers.

"Sorry took so long, sir. Got to give it a few enhances just to make sure it's in its best quality." Said the man breathlessly, wiping away fat droplets of sweat pooling his forehead.

"You could have just levitated the damn thing, you bloody fool." Malfoy snapped back, obviously not his best remark but who could blame a man being lightly molested in public?

"Can't do, Mr. Malfoy. See, these lovelies are built to stimulate sensations from a body; pain, pleasure. Major magic, that is. And it's quite sensitive too, bad spell can ruin it's condition or even lessen its good form. We can't have that, can we?" the man blabbered proudly, sad to say for him, his sole costumer wasn't really paying that much attention, at least, not to him. Harry was doing a rather fantastic job teasing the blond with his modest caresses tracing down the tense chest, fondling away the strained muscles from his arm with his free hand while his wand-hand, gripping both his and Malfoy's proceeded to prod on the blond's backside.

A stretch of few seconds passed by in silence. Harry witnessed the minor yet, if closely regarded, evident shudder trailing down Malfoy's form, the boy seemed hesitant to speak and just before the suspicious Mr. Borgin can verbalize his concerns, Draco spoke,

"No, we can't. After all, we wouldn't want to disappoint the Dark Lord, won't we?" Draco's voice went dark, suddenly tinted with fear that awakened the hair from Harry's nape in shock. The shopkeeper's eyes popped opened, the last sign of seep dissolving from his dilated pupils. He shook his head fervently, as though one single nod wouldn't be adequately genuine. Harry peered down the corner of Malfoy's face and saw the boy's eyes narrow, a gesture he well recognized as an effect of intimidation.

"Regardless, Borgin. Open the box, I feel the need to inspect it. I won't take chances of gambling myself if ever you've misinformed me." Mr. Borgin wasted no less than five tick tocks magically unscrewing the locks with nervous hands. The wooden lid floated freely upon the box that began to release from itself a cloud of thick dust. Unsuspecting the sudden invasion of his air space, Malfoy stumbled back with a mouthful of stifles and, if not for the invisible man behind him, Malfoy would've been acquainted with the filthy floor already. Instead, he was spared from a moment of humiliation by a hard chest and long arms.

Mr. Borgin, looking as every bit horrified, began to bumble incoherent, and currently ignored, apologies. Malfoy stood, his whole form frozen from the surges of electricity brandishing every portion of himself. His hidden captor was as still as he and neither seemed to consider the option to flick a muscle entirely sensible. So they stood, their eyes blankly staring at the still frantic shopkeeper, Harry's hands tightly gripping Malfoy's hips, his face buried against the satin curtains of blond hair, Malfoy's body evenly releasing tired breaths.

"M-master Malfoy, s-sir?" the toady voice of Mr. Borgin destroyed the lingering trance. Malfoy, blinking as though he'd only realised where he was, instantly elbowed away from Harry's hold and retained his humourless posture.

"I thought it was in its best quality, or does the dirt and filth come as a matter of prerequisite?" Malfoy grumbled mockingly, making it an obvious point to brush every portion of himself, nearly sending the boy behind him to stumble out of balance when he shoved back his elbows a bit too harshly.

"S-sorry, Master M-malfoy, it won't happen again. Here, I-I'll—"

"Shut it, you poor excuse for a man. Just take it out, I'll have a look, then I'll be on my way." said Malfoy gruffly and Mr. Borgin obeyed without a blink of hesitation. Harry, who'd been silently choking from laughs after the little revelation with Malfoy and his, Harry's, little problem, curiously leaned closer and peeked from behind Malfoy's shoulder. Mr. Borgin handled his product with quivering hands and if Malfoy hadn't snatched the delicate device just as it was taken out of its package, it was doubtless that the man would've lost his sweaty grip.

Upon seeing the object up close, Malfoy released a breathless sigh, of which increased Harry's interes t tenfold. When he'd finally been given a clear view of the material, however, Harry's eyebrows narrowed. On Malfoy's palms laid what looked like a neckband; it was made of ebony leather from what Harry could see and its length was thick enough to cover a whole human neck. It didn't look anything impressive than a common dog collar but from how Malfoy handled it, it's as if it deserved to be managed preciously.

"The other one?" Malfoy said with an almost friendly voice. Mr. Borgin, not fooled by the change of atmosphere, inserted his hands back inside the box once again and, more cautiously, revealed another type of belt, only it was smaller than the neckband. It confused Harry why such small objects required a capacious size for its container, the objects itself were a mystery to him. Nevertheless, no matter the value it held for the Dark Lord, Harry's plan was concrete. He wasn't going to worry himself over other people's needs, he wasn't going to given in to, as Hermione so_ thoroughly_ mentioned, his saving-people instincts.

"Make sure this gets delivered to the Manor tomorrow evening, Borgin. It better be in its exact condition as I'm seeing now. If you somehow managed to fail those few instructions, I'll see to it that the Dark Lord shall hear of your incompetence. And we all know where that ends." Malfoy slurred in sudden boredom, delicately replacing the objects back to its package and levitating the lid back himself in ease.

"Y-yes, yes! Sir! I-I'll make sure of it! You can count—"

"Quiet! Go fetch the bloody powder! Stupid, blundering idiot…" Malfoy hissed with disgust when the man skittered to the shadows of his private rooms. Harry grinned, his eyes dancing with glee as he watched his rival release a tired exhale and fix his robes again as though preparing for another meeting. Harry was so relievedly satisfied that he didn't notice the blond turning to his direction and head for the fireplace. Malfoy appeared to have forgotten that there was another presence in the room and, after just one step forward, crashed into Harry's chest the second time that night.

Harry, jolting from his moment of blankness, tightened his grip on the two wands on hand at the sight of platinum head and, within the second, had Malfoy in a trapped hold like earlier.

"Fuck…!" Malfoy murmured and repeated his exhausted sigh.

"Malfoy." Harry smirked.

"What for fucking bloody sake are you doing here, Potter?" Malfoy muttered grimly without attempting to escape Harry.

"What, Malfoy? Aren't you glad to see me?" Harry snickered, "Well, apparently you can't." he added, loosening his grip on the boy but kept the wands at a leveled aim. "But I thought you should know, Malfoy, you'd just made my night." Harry whispered, deliberately stroking the tip of his nose on Malfoy's shuddering nape.

"I've got no time for games, Potter. If it's a duel you want, we'll have it outside, I won't have dark items ruin my victory by killing you first. And if you have an ounce of decency left, you'd provide me with a wand."

"Sounds like a treat but I have a better use for you, Malfoy." Harry shoved Malfoy to the counter and wheeled the blond to face him. He tapped himself to remove the charm, making the boy squeal at the near absence of space separating them. Harry approached further until Malfoy was practically sitting on the counter.

"I'm not here to fight –"

"That's a first. You were certainly up for having my neck the last time we saw each other, or have you forgotten? Maybe Mertle can joggle your memory." Malfoy spat with greeted teeth. Harry frowned, last year's incidents were a horrible topic to dwell on, particularly Malfoy's.

"You brought that to yourself, Malfoy, why not make your own choices for a change instead of following Daddy's footsteps like the lapdog you really are?"

"Why don't you follow yours and save us all the trouble, huh, Potter? We don't need a hero. Why don't you just give up? Killing one psychopath won't change things. There'll be others and you can't fight them all." sneered Malfoy. Harry fell silent, Malfoy's words drowning him with thoughts that he'd so often refused to mull over. It was all true, Voldemort wasn't the first and he certainly won't be the last. And Harry, he was just a boy who was given a responsibility before he could even start a life. Why should he care? He'd gone through too much suffering already. And Voldemort? He was no different. He could've turned out normal if he was given the chance. Like Harry, Voldemort never knew his family; never experienced love during his childhood. Hell, Voldemort might be the only one who could actually understand him.

"You're right. I can't fight them all. I'm sick. I'm tired. I've had enough. That's why I'm here, Malfoy. That's why I'm running away, because I'm giving up." Harry dropped Malfoy's wand on the counter, not removing his eyes from Malfoy's wide and gaping ones. "You want to make daddy proud? Take me with you." Malfoy's eyes narrowed.

"That's beyond pathetic, Potter, even for you." he said, but took his wand still. Harry's glanced at the slight opening of the backdoor and spotted Mr. Borgin's enormous backside rising from its kneeling position and turning back to the counter with a pot on hand.

"He's coming back. Your choice, Malfoy." Harry cast the charm back on just as the shopkeeper appeared, his eyebrows jumping at the sight of his customer sitting on his counter. Malfoy instantly hopped off, bumping on Harry who'd once again kept him from hitting the floor the second time. Malfoy didn't shoulder him off, instead he looked ahead, staring straight to Harry's eyes. Malfoy slightly tilted his head before barking a command to Mr. Borgin and began heading for the fireplace with a hand tightly grasping Harry's sleeve.

Mr. Boring scampered to the fireplace after witnessing the death look on Malfoy's face. Malfoy was muttering a sort of threat to a nervously nodding Mr. Borgin when Harry was reminded of his owl, he tried tugging his sleeve from Malfoy's hold but the boy's grasp only hardened at his attempt. He tried warning Malfoy with silent gestures but Malfoy kept his line of attention to the shopkeeper. Harry heaved an irritated sigh that would've made Mr. Borgin suspicious if not for Malfoy, who neither stop his talking nor acknowledge Mr. Borgin's questioning looks.

Then an idea hit Harry that made him grin. Seconds later, Malfoy was clearing his throat, trying to swallow the shriek after feeling a hand squeeze his left arse cheek. He lost his grip, as Harry hoped, and the invisible boy quickly searched the floor for his pet. He felt something bouncing near the counter just as Malfoy was taking a pinch of Floo. Harry grabbed Hedwig and leaped past the shopkeeper to the fireplace, just seconds away till green flames erupted from the hearth.

* * *

Reviews and criticism are encouraged.

I'm in desperate need of a beta-reader. Anyone who is interested in assisting me, please don't hesitate to send me a private message. I want to improve my grammar, particularly my grammar, because it's so rubbish. Thanks. =D


	3. Chapter II

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter solely belongs to Ms. Rowling. No profit or infringement intended.

**Warning**: Mature sexual content and severe use of vulgarity.

Grammatical and spelling errors are all my doing.

* * *

**Chapter II**

"Touch me again, Potter, and I won't hesitate." Malfoy sneered, poking his wand against Harry's chest just moments after the green fire dispersed, revealing a different and highly elegant fireplace. Harry, visible and cornered against the wall with a fuming blond only inches away from him, gripped the boy's ornate belt buckle and pressed their bodies together till the tips of their noses were in contact. He slid his hand behind the blond's lower back until he reached his destination. Malfoy gasped, his scowl deepening savagely but Harry disregarded it. He hadn't been this physically close to anyone since… ever. Ginny had been an exception. Harry only allowed things to go personal with her because Ron insisted it and Harry was hoping for the prospect that maybe, _just maybe, _he was wrong about his sexuality. But all the kisses and embraces and caresses and sex he'd shared with Ginny was no more appealing than feeding Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts. It felt all wrong; the way her lips move, the way her hands felt, her _breasts, _being inside her… It was all wrong. Harry knew, from that moment on, that whether with or without the sex or the physical affection, he would never have deep feelings for Ginny or any other girl for that matter. Hell, he should've learned that lesson when Cho had ruthlessly attacked him with that ghastly kissed in fifth year. Merlin, the girl was sloppy in the most disgusting way Harry could imagine. Puking after kissing Chang and not being able to have a hard-on for days after fucking Ginny were enough clues to solve his problem. Harry was irrevocably gay and right now, this very moment, having an angry Malfoy within his arms, flat against his chest with his hand deliciously pawing the boy's bum, Harry was literally pulsing with want and need. Malfoy, with his soft blond hair, his porcelain skin, those pools of gray pupils burning with hate, his slightly flushed cheeks that Harry so badly want to nuzzle on, those lips, fucking hell, those thin, masculine lips, slightly open, releasing heavy breaths, bloody hell, Harry wanted to stick his tongue inside and just explore it all night! _Fuck, and I haven't even seen the rest of him yet. Not that I'll ever get the chance, I'm about to walk to my death after all. _Harry thought sadly. His life was the worst ever. Just when he managed to get a bloke this close to snogging the heavens out of him, he had to decide to die. Huh… The world and its bloody kindness. Lost in one of his pitiful reveries again, Harry barely noticed Malfoy's lips moving. God, they look even more delectable when he talks.

"… What?" said Harry dumbly and absently watched those pink lips hardened with a frown. It took all his self control to not lean down and soften them.

"I said if you don't get your hand off my arse this instant, I'll cut it off and feed it to you." Malfoy spat, but kept his stand within Harry's hold. Harry pushed him closer and smiled when Malfoy raised his chin up to meet his eyes. God, he loved being tall.

"I'm deliberately handing myself over, Malfoy, give me a bit of credit." murmured Harry, nestling his face upon Malfoy's hair and felt the blond release a drumming breath upon feeling Harry's lips graze against his upper jaw.

"Deciding to be a suicidal idiot doesn't win you a shag, scarhead." said Malfoy with a not-so-nasty tone and tried to push Harry away, only succeeding when Harry allowed him. "And FYI, we're not where you think we are." he added, shoving his wand back inside his cloak and turning towards the only other door in sight.

Harry's brows scrunched. He gave one long look around the room. A large, emerald chandelier floated above the ebony ceiling, glaring portraits of blonds surrounded the room with the all-familiar face of Lucius Malfoy dominating them all with its huge silver frame placed above the human-size fireplace. Green and black chairs, settees and divans were situated in each corner, each one paired with glass tables with vases full of black roses. Harry had never been to the Manor but this seemed a lot like how he'd expected to look like.

"It seemed an awful lot like it is." Harry said and Malfoy responded, "It's not." before disappearing to the door. Harry, having no choice but to tail him, walked to the oak-made doors complete with silver, snake-like handles and gave a fighting glare to Lucius Malfoy's portrait before leaving the room. He was met with a long corridor, again filled with moving paintings of the Malfoy line, all of whom watched him suspiciously as he passed by. Malfoy was already several steps away from Harry when he made a left turn. Harry didn't quicken his pace till he heard voices from Malfoy's direction.

Harry sprinted, his saving-people sense tingling, until he was met by a sight that caught him dead in his tracks. There was Draco Malfoy, huddled tightly, _possessively, _around one long arm and being kissed, no, sharing _tongues_, with a half-naked, positively gorgeous Lucius Malfoy.

"Not… now…" Draco shuddered but didn't make a speck of attempt to escape his father's clutches. Lucius, looking immaculately pleased that his son's movements, or lack thereof, complied to his touch despite Draco's forced words, caught those thin lips that Harry was so fond of and, from where Harry could see, slithered his tongue in once more, of which Draco hesitantly welcomed in with a weak moan that made Harry sweat.

"What the fuck?" Harry was confused, again. He cannot be seeing this. He cannot be liking this. He cannot be fucking getting hard watching this. And for the love of all that is normal, it cannot be jealousy that he's feeling. Merlin, he cannot be jealous of Lucius fucking Malfoy. HE CANNOT. He cannot want to push him away and smash his own lips against that ferret-faced wanker. AND NO, HE CANNOT WANT TO JOIN THEM. BLOODY HELL, HE CANNOT YEARN FOR LUCIUS MALFOY TO STICK HIS TONGUE INTO _HIS _MOUTH. NO, HARRY POTTER CANNOT BE THINKING THAT.

"Good evening, Potter." Lucius smirked, Draco still trapped around his arm. Harry watched, wide-eyed, as the man's gaze drifted down slowly and Harry was forced to see the spectacular movement of Lucius' tongue wetting his bottom lip, still red from kissing.

"Would you like us to take care of that?" Lucius slurred, his eyes shamelessly eyeing Harry's tight trousers and the tent between it hungrily. Harry gulped, feeling his shaft jitter with excitement at the invitation. Yet, before he could answer, Draco released a sigh filled with irritation. He slipped away from his father's embrace and barked, "How fucking brilliant! Everyone's being a pervert tonight!" and stormed off to another room.

Both Harry and Lucius watched him go, the latter giving a light chuckle. Harry only did notice the goblet of sizzling Firewhisky Lucius was faintly holding with his other hand when the man drowned the drink with one go. "Forgive his temper. He'll loosen up when his tied and naked." Lucius said with a smile, his silk sleeping trousers, sheer enough that Harry could practically see his beautifully stiff penis, slid down his hips until tiny curls of flaxen pubic hair were apparent to Harry's eyes. About ready to spill his load after an image of Draco tied and naked flashed his mind, Harry desperately wished for those trousers to sink lower, one peek of Lucius' dick and he could relieve himself, save him from the desire to wank because, as much as the Malfoys were the core of his fantasies since this very night, he wasn't keen on having a memory of himself playing with his shaft with the names of a Death Eater and a school rival escaping from his lips. Harry was going to die with a virgin arse, whether he likes it or not and oh, how he hates it.

While Harry silently cursed his thoughts, Lucius' approach escaped his notice and Harry gasped at the burning tang of Firewhisky from Lucius' finger as the man traced his lips. "You have lovely lips, Potter. Mind if I taste?" he murmured, his breath strong with alcohol that made Harry dizzy. Lucius inched closer, his eyes reflecting his target, he carelessly dropped the empty glass, clasping Harry's body closer, but the sound of the goblet's impact on the floor jerked Harry to see a glimpse of where Lucius' intention was leading to and found the bit of courage to stop him.

"M-Mr. Malfoy, Please. You're lashed." he said clumsily and lightly pushed the man against the wall. Lucius blew the few strands of pale hair away from his face and clutched Harry's shirt, pulling him until Harry was resting against his chest, Lucius' arm locking him from behind. "Don't be a spoil sport, Harry, you can have your way with Draco later. You're mine for now." he whispered, fogging Harry's spectacles, a pinch of seriousness swimming in his voice that felt like fingertips sliding down Harry's back, making him shudder. Harry breathed in nervously, the tangy scent of Lucius' hair mingled with the whiff of Firewhisky blurred his senses. The arm around him softly tightened and Harry forgot the world and surrendered. The only other time he was held so intimately was by Sirius. His godfather had none but the wish to comfort Harry after Harry had unwillingly burst out all the boiling fury smoldering him during his fifth year, but the moment Harry found himself grasped within huge arms, his vision blocked by dark hair and a rough chin, Harry had an epiphany. Hermione's friendly hugs, Mrs. Weasley motherly embraces, Ginny's loving cuddles, they made Harry smile and feel better but it never reached the point where Harry wanted to melt in them, wanted to curl up closer, wanted to weep warm tears and just be weak and fragile. Sirius, he did more than reach that point, he exceeded it tenfold. Sirius had lightened his burden completely, he made Harry feel protected and utterly loved, he made him feel that being human was enough, that no matter the height of Harry's failures, he will always be cradled with as much warmth and love. And Harry knew, when he sank his face upon his godfather's neck, that only a man can do this. Only a man's love can content him. Now, despite the inappropriate timing, Harry wanted to be weak again. He wanted to feel loved again. Lucius lifted Harry's glasses from his eyes and planted ghostly kisses on his eyelids, and Harry's hesitations and common sense dispersed. He yielded his body to Lucius and the man sheltered him with both arms. Harry trembled when Lucius' arousal made itself obvious and unintentionally whimpered when Lucius growled at feeling Harry's own excitement. The man stared down at him with shadowed eyes, his lips parting when Harry looked back at him with hooded eyes. Lucius wasted no time after Harry mimicked him and opened his own lips, before Harry knew it or even comprehend the unlikeliness of the situation, Lucius engulfed him with his mouth and Harry had unclenched his teeth to allow entrance to the tongue before he could stop himself. Just as Harry was beginning to respond with the kissing and rubbing, Lucius slipped a hand inside Harry's trousers from behind and Harry nearly screamed when a finger skimmed between his cheeks. Upon lousy attempts to wander through Lucius' alcoholic mouth further and increase the force of their colliding pricks, Harry fell deft to Draco's reproaching voice.

"Father, that's enough." Draco said, pressing more depth on his tone. "Bloody hell, I leave you for five minutes and you're seconds away from popping Gryffindor boy. Griffin! And for bloody sake, get your hand off his arse – Griffin! Move, Potter." Draco separated them, dragging Harry by the arm to the opposite wall and gave Lucius a vial bubbling with black liquid. "GRIFFIN! Fucking elf – Dad, stop disrobing me." Draco slapped Lucius' hands and fixed his blazer to its place, uncorking the vial, Draco pushed it under Lucius' nose and Harry watched the dark smoke fade to Lucius' nostrils. Lucius exhaled instantly, his face altering from drunken intoxication to disgust but proceeded to let the awful smell juggle him awake. "Drink. Then put on something decent. I can't have Potter drooling over you when he's got a lot of explaining to do." he said sternly, handing the potion to his father and giving him a peck straight to the lips. Lucius had an unreadable look but did as he told, his face smoothening after Draco's light kiss.

"Young Master Malfoy requires Griffin?" Harry, busying himself with cleaning his fogged glasses just so to avoid the blond, saw a vague figure half Draco's size standing beside the blond. Draco turned to the elf and Harry needn't need his spectacles to recognize his sneer. "Took you long enough, you little prick." snapped Draco, hanging his hands on his hips to stress his disapproval. Harry, instantly putting on his glasses, saw with amazement the garments the elf wore. Griffin, as he was called, wore a miniscule green tuxedo complete with a neck bow, white gloves and small leather footwear. Chin up, chest out, ears calmed, Griffin only responded with a bow, an elegant, chest-leveled bow. "My apologies sir, Griffin's services were occupied by the professor. What may Griffin assist Young Master Malfoy with?" the elf's voice was squeaky but smooth, he did not stutter a word. Harry watched him with pure curiosity and wondered what Dobby had done so badly to the Malfoys that he didn't own a voice as confident as this Griffin.

"Kindly escort Mr. Potter over here to the loo. I think he's in need of a release." He said, looking from Griffin, who neither reacted to his master's orders nor paid Harry any attention, to Harry, who did the opposite. "And, if it fits his fancy, ask the professor if he could spare the rest of the night from his experiments and join us for tea. Tell him we have an interesting guest this evening." Draco continued, eyes still lingering on Harry.

"As Young Master Malfoy wishes, Griffin shall comply." said the elf with an elegant bow and approached Harry. "Mr. Potter, please follow Griffin." he said before making an about-face and walking towards the corridor with precise little steps.

"Go ahead, Potter." Draco said when Harry didn't move and gave a bit of attention to his hard groin. "That won't take long." he added before striding back to the room he disappeared to earlier.

::

Five minutes and Harry was drying the sweat from his temples and the spunk from his penis. Once Harry entered the door Griffin directed him to, he thought the elf had led him to the outside pool by mistake but Harry caught sight of the cubicles – there was a row of them – on one corner and several basins opposite it. The tub, of which he thought to be a swimming pool, although it lacked difference, had an emerald statue of a serpent surrounding it, its head perched on the front side with its mouth stretched open, revealing fangs that looked too real. The walls were of translucent glass with a vista of the sea, the ceilings were made of mirrors with hovering bubble-looking chandeliers and the floor, like the walls, were glass-made, beneath it, marine creatures swam, like a huge aquarium. Everything glittered here and there and Harry thought who was Malfoy kidding? This was Malfoy Manor.

He took a leak and washed his hands and face, hoping the cold water would lessen the reddening of his face. Harry squinted his eyes to the mirror and was a bit relieved to see his normal colour, but frowned again at the clarity of his scar. He hid it behind his bangs – only about the only thing his hair was good for – and charmed his glasses clean. He was a mess from the neck down. Sweat dampened his armpits, his shirt had apparent wrinkles and MERLIN, are those hickeys? Funny, he didn't remember Lucius kissing his neck, he can't remember him kissing his neck THAT many times either. "Bleeding Christ…" he murmured after he took of his shirt. Nearly the whole of his neck had spots of red, Harry prod one sore area with a finger and expected it to hurt or itch, but it tickled. He pressed another area again and chuckled. Are hickeys suppose to tickle? "Weird…" Harry said to himself, turning to see if he had any on his nape, there were only several.

"Damn, I need a shirt." he muttered, looking at his garment with distaste. Outside were two Malfoys and, according to Draco, a professor. Who it was, Harry didn't know. He can't go out there with a neck full of love bites and a smelly shirt. Merlin knows he'd already made a clown of himself far enough. But then again, why should it matter? Harry planned to die tonight anyway. He wasn't the sort who dress up for his own funeral and it's not as if he had that much of decent clothes. Vanity for garments wasn't something he felt spending money on. Living with the Dursleys taught him to value whatever he's got, especially the smallest of things. "I'm about to die and I'm making a fuss over impressing the Malfoys." he said to his reflection.

"Well, what a shame. I would've loved another spectacular show." a voice said and Harry presumed a moment it was one of those mirrors that talk but he noticed a form of a body hovering beside his mirror image. Harry turned and searched the room, expecting to see one of the Malfoys, but he was alone. He stared back at the reflection, it smiled at him, no, it _smirked _at him. "Malfoy?" Harry leaned to the mirror, not particularly sure which Malfoy he was referring to. The body mimicked him, only his head popped from the mirror and Harry swore, if he were flesh, he could've kissed Harry. Harry jolted away, nearly falling on the toilet and watched when the body flew from the mirror and stood right in front of him. It was a ghost, a _butt-naked _ghost. "W-what— W-Who?" Harry stuttered, inching back to the cubicle, trying to force his eyes away from the ghost's lower parts and failed.

"Well this isn't fair." he said and Harry's eyes jerked back to him, the smirk appeared again. "What? What isn't fair?"

"You get to see mine but I can't see yours." he replied, his hand tracing down his groin. Harry gulped, unable to keep from watching. The ghost looked a little older than Draco, he sounded nearly like Draco and his hair was shoulder-length and blond like Lucius'. Harry blinked and blinked, but this was no figment of his imagination. A Malfoy ghost. A _naked _Malfoy ghost.

"Who— Who are you!" Harry demanded, ignoring the ghost's last comment and trying to wish away his growing arousal. The ghost gave a small smile and walked – glided – closer till he was leaning on the cubicle's door with Harry flat against the wall. The ghost watched Harry's eyes travel up and down in amusement.

"Who I am is lesser the significance of who _you _are, _sire_." he neared Harry. "My name dominates books, the whole of the Malfoy Library, as a matter of fact. You are more than welcome to probe whenever it fancies your interest. I don't see the need to waste our meeting on such nonsense. I would much rather prefer to know who those ravishing green eyes belongs to." his voice was pleasure to the ears and Harry couldn't steady his breathing. He was suppose to be immensely tortured and eventually killed, not constantly having his organ played with by bloody Death Eaters, let alone, a bloody ghost.

"Well, I'm no different. I've been on the papers and if my plan goes on track tonight, there'll certainly be books written about me… Unfortunately. So why don't you save your curiosity for when that arrives, it won't be long. I'll be on my way then." he said briskly and skid out the cubicle, shuddering when his hand passed through the ghost's lower portions.

"Ah." he smiled. "I thought that scar looked familiar. You look sexier in person, mind you. They never get photos of your good side and you always look disgruntled when you're on the front page." the ghost soared above Harry and settled before the door. "A word of advice, Mr. Potter, have a wank before facing the media, it relaxes the muscles and adds colour to the features. Then Draco and I would have something better to pleasure ourselves with." Harry's hand froze from reaching the handle.

"What… What do you— Who are you?"

"Brutus Malfoy. Writer and homosexual. Pleasure." he purred with a wink. Harry's cheeks burned. The urge to run back to the cubicle and attend to his body's pleads seemed his most important priority at that moment. It was painful to resist unbuckling his belt and just watch this alluring creature do his charm. It was only then Harry began to see how extremely moronic it was to bribe Malfoy. This was not included in his plan. Naked Malfoys and cocks, as much as they allocate the exact opposite of pain, will certainly be the death of him if he didn't leave now. And Harry, no matter how unpleasant it sounds, would much rather prefer to die a painful death.

"Lovely. Well, this has been interesting and bizarre, but I have to go. So if you just… fly off." said Harry with the calmest voice he could muster.

"Oh, certainly. I wouldn't want to be a burden of your time. However, it would only be appropriate for me to advise you that you are dealing with man-eating sharks beyond that door and to attend evening tea with such company half-bare wouldn't be so wise." Brutus said pragmatically. "And, as much as it distresses me to state the obvious, I doubt that little problem of yours will escape their notice either. It's not actually very little." he added, his eyes smoldering the dent between Harry's legs with bold interest.

"Fuck…" Harry muttered as he looked down at himself. As the ghost had said, his chest was bare, the hickies completely unavoidable from prying eyes, and the bulge of his arousal was anything but obscure.

"I'll be much oblige to help and find you a decent upper garment… only if you let me watch." said Brutus, surprising Harry with his sudden approach. Harry staggered back until he was cornered against the rows of washing sinks. Only his lower half seemed to disagree with his common sense.

"I— I'd rather help myself, thanks." he stuttered and gulped when Brutus only responded by stroking his own stiff shaft. Harry had never imagine the day he will be more than willing to jerk off in front of a ghost. A _Malfoy _ghost for Merlin's sake. "G— Griffin! Help!"

"Mr. Potter requires Griffin's assistance?" the squeaky voice came from beside him and, for the first time, Harry started to loathe magic. He turned to the little elf, who didn't seem at all bothered by Harry's appearance, but before Harry could verbalize his escape,

"How strangely titillating, Mr. Potter, I'm deeply offended that you much rather have a little servant elf to assist your discomfort. You aren't the dominating sort, are you? Because, I'll tell you now, Lucius is deeply talented in that department. Draco lost his voice from all his screaming during his seventeenth birthday. It was marvelously done. The poor boy couldn't seat properly for a month. And I suppose those adorable, little marks were his doing?"

Only when the elf, Griffin, cleared his throat – sounding more like a broken squeal – did Harry realised his mouth was hanging open and his lungs were labouring with heavy breaths. Not caring that there's a perverted ghost and an intimidating elf in the room, Harry hurriedly unzip his trousers, snatched his pulsating dick from inside his pants and one, two strokes later, he was streaming a trail of milky fluids on the mirrors, his moans echoing around the walls.

"Damn..." a loud bang drowned his voice and Harry, eyes still on the mirror, was positive it was a real Malfoy walking in the door this time.

"Damn it, Potter! What's taking you –" Draco froze, his hand still on the handle. "so long…" Harry watched the blond's eyes drive down his reflection until they rested on Harry's palm still stroking his tool.

"Very long." Brutus added, now floating in the mirror and tracing Harry's cum as it slithered down to one of the basins. Apart from his hand, Harry stood very still, looking anywhere but Draco, who seemed neither capable of using his voice. Griffin broke the awkward silence with his squealing grunt.

"Griffin suggests Mr. Potter to try this garment." Harry directed his eyes to the elf and found a clean black cloth neatly folded on its little hands. Harry quickly grabbed it and dashed to the cubicle, Draco was still there.

"I'll be out in – in a moment." he said, the tremble in his voice evident. Harry waited for a snidey answer or the banging sound of the door shutting close but none came. Only Brutus Malfoy's amused voice occupied his ears. "Well, Draco dear, you never mentioned a new toy. Don't you want to share anymore?" Harry heard him say with a chuckle.

"Oh, so this is all your doing now, is it?" Draco scolded like a parent. "What have I told you about molesting the guests? This the guests' loo and, if I remember clearly, father forbade you after that incident with the professor!"

"Why, Draco, I did no such thing! In fact, as much as it pains me, I can't do such things! Molest the guests before evening tea! How entirely un-Malfoy behavior. I was only… associating with Mr. Potter and he seems to find my company passable." answered the ghost indignantly.

"Oh, do shut up. I haven't the time for petty arguments. Do the three of us a favour and go dangle yourself to the portraits in the West Quarters unless you want father to discipline you again. As for you, Potter, if you're incapable of keeping your mind out of the gutter then I suggest a cold swim. Make it fast, unlike the rest of the bloody world, we have better matters to indulge our time with than worship the ground you walk on." Harry hadn't expected a quick recover from Malfoy and was left alone before he could justify his own self.

"He likes you." said an all too familiar voice, Harry searched around and his eyes caught the face of Brutus Malfoy hovering on the cubicle door, holding a smile that looked inches short from a smirk. Harry's eyes made a clockwise.

"Sarcasm isn't becoming of you." Harry said and received only a friendly chuckle. "I've seen lads like you comeand go, Mr. Potter. Don't be surprise if this evening ends differently. Trust my word. Ta." and he was gone, the last Harry saw of him was a knowing grin that knotted Harry's stomach. After what he'd gone through the last few hours, it wasn't so difficult believing Brutus' words.

The plan to escape sounded only sensible. Harry considered Apparating but whilst he thought of a location, it dawned to Harry that he was still three days young from legal age, the Order is probably searching every corner of Great Britain by now, maybe even watching the Floo networks and other form of magical transport in hopes that his name would appear. Then again, the chances of them apprehending him will be less likely if Voldemort got to him first. Harry frowned, Voldemort didn't know that the Order was busting him out of the Dursley's three days early, it was the whole point of the plan and, unless information leaked, Voldemort would be patient, he would prepare thoroughly.

"Shit…" he didn't know getting himself killed on purpose would be more complicated than keeping himself alive. Then again, when were things ever easy for Harry Potter?

As far as Harry thought of it, he had little choice. Giving in with a sigh, he shed all his clothes off and dived in the massive pool. There was no reason at all to rush things, whatever it is that's going to happen tonight, it was better than bothering himself with the rest of the world's problems.

* * *

Reviews and criticism are encouraged.


	4. Chapter III

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter solely belongs to Ms. Rowling. No profit or infringement intended.

**Warning**: Mature sexual content and severe use of vulgarity.

Grammatical and spelling errors are all my doing.

* * *

**Chapter III**

Harry lost track of time from his supposedly brief swim. His previous experience with water in fourth year had embarked a permanent antipathy against anything deep and damp. But the moment his body touched the liquid surface, Harry found himself floating on clouds and had Griffin not came to retrieve him, Harry would've happily drowned himself.

Cleaned and dressed, Harry allowed the elf to take lead and awed at the eloquence of his surroundings as they made their way back. Malfoy Manor or not, it was apparently given that only a Malfoy can walk these halls and match its bizarre significance. Everything was only too beautiful. The ceilings were a step higher than heaven, the walls were twice as ivory as the previous corridor, the furniture twice as flawless at second glance. Yes, it all just screamed Malfoy at the highest note and Harry had to wonder why that didn't bother him the least. As it happens, a lot has taken place recently that Harry should disapprove of but even the mere thought of Lucius Malfoy sticking his tongue down his own son's throat became more of a nudge on Harry's lower and more interested parts than his morals. It all the more confirmed Harry's insanity. None of this was normal… his attempt in suicide, the peace he felt amidst betraying his most loyal friends, the pleasure in watching incest in its most sinful form… Harry knew the depth of the faults he'd done and about to do, but it felt so unbelievably comforting, this feeling of making mistakes and turning away from unwanted responsibilities, the reality that he _could _do it. There was no one to impress, no one to worry about, because no one depended on him, no one relied on him any more than he relied on himself and what a relief it was.

What a relief it was to be selfish and… evil.

"Masters await Mr. Potter's presence." Griffin said and gestured, with his very small gloved hand, to the doors before them. Harry watched him bow and disappear, vaguely devastated that he was to enter and feed himself to the beautiful demons alone. The sight of the large, ebony doors intimated him to no end that Harry nearly wished Voldemort would replace them. He inched closer, each step smaller than the previous one until muffled voices reached his ears. Draco and his father were talking. It wasn't at all surprising that the topic was engrossed on him. Harry leaned against the doors, suddenly appreciating its existence, and listened to the voices drumming against the wood.

"… Can't have given up. People trust him for victory. Potter's too much of a saint to turn his back on them." Harry instantly recognised Lucius Malfoy. This was the Lucius Malfoy he knew, fought and hated. It unsettled Harry, however, that this was the same man who'd burned his lips with Firewhisky earlier.

"Search his thoughts then and see for yourself. I've invaded his life long enough to know when Potter's bluffing. Trust me father, had I not been in Borgin's, Potter wouldn't be breathing by now." Draco's voice sounded breathless, like he just went through a fit of ranting.

"Speaking of Borgin, how did the transaction go?"

"Father, please, this isn't the right time –"

"Perhaps, it would be best if we limit our discussion to the matter at hand, Lucius," Harry's blood froze. He knew that voice anywhere. "especially when the evening's guest is present in our midst." A warm breeze caressed Harry's face as he watched, in horror, the door gradually swing open. He shut his gaping mouth at the first sight of a face – Draco's – who'd greeted him with a blank expression; and swallowed the bulk hovering on his throat at meeting the other Malfoy, who so despicably smiled at him; and finally, Harry lowered his eyes before they could encounter the arrogant and impossibly aloof façade of Severus Snape.

"I'm sure Potter would deeply welcome a cup of tea before he entertains us with his thoughts." The night seemed determined to amaze Harry. He'd never, in all his years at Hogwarts, heard Snape speak so… politely towards him.

A moment had passed before Harry was finally able to stable himself in a bit of ground and notice the porcelain cup floating before him. The hint of suspicion in his gut while staring down at the content calmed him entirely. There was still a bit of the old Harry Potter lingering in his consciousness, that particular bit that despised and mistrusted Snape. Harry snatched his wand from his back pocket and had to bite down a smile at witnessing Draco's sudden stiffness. "_Specialis Revelio." _He whispered and tapped the edge of the cup. It seemed ordinary tea until… "Veritaserum." Harry muttered, not at all surprised.

"You, of all people, Potter should know to expect that." Snape said and, although his form was hidden behind the chair he seated on with only the tip of a greasy head visible to Harry's view, Harry just knew a bitter smile forming. "Unless you prefer it throttled down your mouth." Snape's hand raised and so did the cup, inching dangerously close to Harry's lips.

"I think I'm more than capable of being honest, thanks." He said and caught the cup.

"I disagree, Potter, after all, you've just molested my son into bringing you here, as he so explicitly told us." Lucius continued to smile, Harry could practically see the delight in his eyes at Draco's discomfort. Harry watched his rival from the edge of his eyes, Draco had taken a liking in narrowing his attention down to his shoes.

"Pity I didn't get to him first." Harry said, catching Draco's wide-eyed stare before turning to Lucius.

"Why, _Harry_, I wasn't aware you expressed such interest in my son."

"I wouldn't call it interest. Obsession better fits it." Harry kept a composed glare at Lucius' slow smile, the gasp that passed his ears tempted him to turn and relish a sight that, no doubt, would've made this night all the more appealing.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, is it really that impossible to maintain a level of decency and not act like a pair of sick perverts that you so painstakingly truly are?" Snape's voice, as ever, bubbled of boredom and irritation that amused Harry more than it usually irked him.

"Now Severus…" Lucius' movements could only be appropriately described as elegant. Harry only managed a small protest against his mind's silent disappointment that the man had decided to cover himself with unnecessary clothes. If he wasn't still slightly doubtful about his mentality, he would've actually admitted liking Lucius half-naked. "Don't be such a spoilsport, dear, you owe the boy as much after your little history." Lucius caressed Snape's arm, his eyes steady on Harry as he unbuttoned the professor's collar. Harry couldn't resist following Lucius' fingers as it disappeared beneath Snape's robes. Snape's eyes slit furiously.

"Mind your limits, Lucius." He hissed, one hand strangling Lucius' wrist and wrenching it away from his violated skin. Harry looked away out of decorum, his line of vision landing on Draco's immobile presence. The blond looked as though his thoughts were preoccupied with serious matters and that the whole exchange between his father and the professor was no more than an ordinary occurrence that was obviously meant to be ignored. But, after intensely watching him stroke the edge of his wine glass against his bottom lip, Harry could spot the brief glances he gave at the two adults. Draco was frightened. It was only when Harry saw the dread in Draco's eyes did he notice a body passing him by, the sound of hard footsteps made him turn and Harry saw the last of Snape leaving the room in anger before the door banged closed.

"Must you always upset him?" Draco's angered tone caught Harry by surprise.

"He must learn the vitality of freeing himself from that dog." Lucius responded seriously, strolling to one corner and making himself a merry glass of alcohol that looked stronger and darker than Firewhisky.

"I regret to disappoint you father, but not everyone in this world is as cold-hearted and unfeeling as you are." Draco was walking to the door where Snape vanished to, Harry would know, he was being dragged by the blond by the arm. He tried advancing his steps with Draco and before they'd completely left the dragon's den, leaving the monster with his fire, Harry heard Lucius mutter, "Pity."

**:: :: :: :: ::**

"Griffin, prepare a plate for father, he'll be eating in his chambers tonight. And makes sure by the time he finishes his sixth bottle that he lands on his bed. I hate to find him sprawled on his desk the third time." The elf nodded as though the order had been given more than once at the past. Draco hadn't spared a word nor a glance to Harry since they've left Lucius on his own. Harry didn't argue, he wasn't quite sure what to argue about and it was certainly a relief that he wasn't under the spotlight for now. Draco kept walking and Harry followed. Somehow, Draco's mood seemed to blanket the atmosphere of every corridor they walk through, the lights dimmed, red roses blackened, portraits lost their smiles and colours, all that was left was Draco's shadow looming over like a plague. Harry had trouble containing himself from looking over his shoulder every passing minute, expecting dementors looming near.

They finally arrive at a set of mahogany doors that look friendlier, Draco was yet to reach it entirely when two house-elves popped. Draco made no indication of stopping, he simply walked and just when Harry was about to hold him back, the elves pushed the doors open, revealing a room twice as large and well-furnished as the previous one. A long table was established on the middle with two live fireplaces on opposite walls. The room glowed with light and when Harry stepped in, he assumed he was entering another house. It was the sort cheerful people are expected to live in. Until he noticed Snape seated at one side of the table, his appearance and mood completely unaffected by the room's aura. Harry was once again reminded of the incident earlier. Snape's face hadn't released its distasted scowl.

"Sit, Potter." Draco directed and sat at the front of the table, Snape on his left and Harry, after looking quite a bit lost, took the one vacant on Draco's right.

"Took you long enough." Snape muttered all of a sudden as he prepared himself for the arriving food, of which blossomed from the surface of the table. About more than a dozen plates were settled, all smoldering with delicious fumes that called to Harry's appetite. He barely recognised half of the dishes filling his plate and Harry was sure the other half was completely foreign to him. But it had been a long night and Harry only made his stomach impatient after recalling the last meal he'd eaten at the Dursleys, all of which were but bits of rubbish compared to this extravagant buffet.

"Indulge as best as you can, Potter." Draco said, raising a glass of what looked like bubbling Butterbeer to his lips. "It's going to be a long talk afterwards."

The dinner was silent and Harry was suddenly reminded that he was no longer in the presence of Ron, who'd always surpassed the limits of normal human food intake, and Hermione, who'd long since given up scolding Harry of his lack of manners whenever and wherever food is available. This was a different company, probably the opposite of his usual Gryffindor mates, and Harry wasted a full five minutes hopelessly staring down at the number of spoons, forks and knives surrounding his plate. He watched Draco from his peripheral view and was yet to receive any reaction from his lack of enthusiasm towards his plate and finally, after careful deliberation, Harry peeked at Snape's direction. Snape was blankly examining the contents of his wine glass, his plate only half empty. And Harry began to realise than neither seemed to pay him any attention at all, in fact, they seemed highly uninterested in one another. He'd so gotten used to being constantly scrutinized by his surroundings that he nearly forgot the type of people he was dining with. These were known enemies who'd loathed Harry more than ever. They didn't care one bit about Harry upholding his dignified status, they'd probably laugh at him if he tried.

Harry tried then, grabbing a random fork from his left and a spoon from his right and waited. Neither of the two acknowledged him. He picked a piece of what looked like mashed potato with his fork and brought it to his lips, absently moaning and closing his eyes at the heaven he'd just tasted. When Harry was finally satisfied, having savored his first bite and swallowing it, he made an attempt to continue eating when he felt the familiar sense of being watched.

Draco's eyes were on him. And Harry swore the slight curve of his lips were mere notions that he'd been holding a smile earlier on. "How is it?"

"What?"

"The food."

"Oh. It's… delicious." Harry nearly forgot the word. Draco Malfoy looked delighted, almost honoured. Harry had never seen him try to hide a smile before, smirks, yes, especially during times when he watched Harry being tormented by Snape or other forms of authority after their quarrels, but never a smile, let alone, a genuine smile. "Give my regards to the chef." Harry said, feeling an urge to witness that smile, to have it directed to him.

"Tell him yourself." It was Snape who spoke. For a moment, Harry was ready to spat back a remark, knowing, in the deepest, darkest corner of his mind that it was not because of self-defense, as it usually was, but because he wanted, very much, to maintain his current ability to make Draco Malfoy smile. But at seeing Snape face, smiling, if you can call it a smile, at Draco's direction, Harry immediately realised he was teasing.

Harry examined the silent interaction between the two, his eyes particularly hovering at Snape's direction. Yes, Snape was smiling, there was no evil or malice. Just smiling. And the way his eyes bore to Draco, it was… loving. It lacked intensity, but there was so much truth in it. Harry knew, because he'd often caught Sirius giving him the same looks in more than one occasion as do Mr. Weasley each time he saw his children together. There was no lust, not the way Lucius stared at Draco earlier, it was gentle loving, father loving, friendly loving, honest loving. Harry had to blink once, twice. The way he did it, the way he looked at Draco was so like Sirius. Harry looked away instantly, _now is not the time to dwell on tender memories._

Draco had finally revealed his smile and the moment Harry recovered and saw, his heart skipped a beat and jumped so high it hit his throat, he was ever so glad to spot a glass of water on sight. Dear Merlin, he forgot how to breathe. He forcibly drowned the liquid down his throat until the quivers and itches screaming all over his mind and body had subsided. Ginny's smile had never trigger that sort of affect on him, it was barely enough to catch Harry's eyes and Cho… He couldn't even recall the girl's face, much less, how she smiles.

"You made these? All of these?" Harry asked the moment he regained composure, it didn't stop him, however, from constantly rubbing his sweating palms against his napkin.

"Why, Potter, this a rare opportunity for you, having to find out that your most hated rival is a pampered, little cookie. I was hoping for a downpour of mockery." Draco said, and smiled again.

"Well, seeing as I'm still breathing," _Like hell I am. _"and the food is truly amazing, I think you deserve more than what you're hoping for." Harry held the gaze as long as he can and, upon witnessing Draco's defeat and the slight pink emerging from his cheek as he look down to take a sip from his glass, Harry inwardly toasted with himself. He'd just succeeded on making Draco Malfoy blush.

"Amazing, Potter, how you constantly surpass expectations." Draco continued, seemingly unable to keep his eyes from Harry without smiling.

"I wasn't meant to be predictable." He replied and proceeded with his dish, smiling in response when Draco was forced to pause and engulf Harry's words and the meaning behind it.

"For once, Potter, I agree." Snape drawled and even from just the tone of his voice, Harry knew that the man was aware of the unspoken interest behind and between Harry's words. Snape gave a look that told Harry that he was hesitant in approving of this new-found _liking, _however. But Harry had faced dragons before, and this was a challenge he was all the more willing to conquer.

When the plates were empty and the table cleared, the mood darkened that Harry could no longer bring himself in humouring his company with small talk. Draco took his time with his glass; Harry maintained a level of awareness each time the blond made a move, devastatingly expecting the blond to taunt him for an explanation at any moment. Admittedly, Draco Malfoy was a specimen difficult to ignore. It wasn't long till Harry felt intensely jealous of the wineglass. Draco was practically making love to it at every angle; his fingers would caress the fragile outline as though it were skin, his lips would linger impossibly too long after each sip, but it was the sigh, the contented moan that barely reached Harry's ears that did it all. Gods, the efforts Harry mustered to keep himself seated and immobile were simple torture. He was seating beside Temptation in disguise, and what a complete prat he is for making – forcing – Harry want to give in and just _enjoy_ him in every wicked way.

Just as Harry was about to ask if he could excuse himself to the loo, deeply regretting the large amount of water he'd taken earlier, Draco called Griffin's name.

"Has father eaten?"

"Yes, master. Master Lucius has retired to his chambers."

"Good." A look of troubled contemplation crossed Draco's face. "Make sure we are not to be disrupted. By_ anyone_." Griffin lingered, even as Draco waved him away. Harry peered at him and, for the first time, saw the struggle he'd often witnessed in Dobby appear in Griffin's expression. Like Draco's words were simply telling him to disobey. He vanished with a grave grunt.

"Now, Potter, talk." It was Snape who spoke. He suddenly looked more familiar to Harry. Intimidating and predatory. And, like every Potions test he'd encountered, Harry lacked the answer. He knew the question but lacked the answer. He looked at Draco and saw the blond was waiting as well. Only Harry could see the fear so bluntly that it looked as though Draco was asking him not to speak at all and just run back to being the Chosen One and kill the manic bastard Voldemort instead.

"Potter, I'm moments away from invading your thoughts, unless you speak now, I won't hesitate."

"I – don't want to fight. Anymore." Harry spat the words in haste before Snape's threat could completely sink in his head. Having Snape know his thoughts and the feelings attached to it was a distasteful experience. Worse than the most scandalizing news-spread the _Prophet _could come up with. It was not an option he was willing to take _again_.

He thought he saw a light spark of curiosity from the man's eyes. But Harry could only be the least certain. Severus Snape was the last man who'd ever truly express curiosity towards Harry, the man would simply yawn if Harry would choke himself now.

The silence that followed frustrated Harry. A word, even a facial reaction, would simply be lovely. But he was given none but tight lips. _They wanted the story straightforward, bloody pricks._ Harry would've fought and waited for them to take the mic, but it would mean longer silence. He wasn't in the mood to test his patience.

"I'm only going to say this once," Harry said with a gulp. "I didn't ask… to be the Chosen One. Or the Boy Who Lived. I didn't ask for the first eleven years of my life spent in a cupboard and the next six years being hunt down by a psychopath who wouldn't die. I didn't ask for dead parents, dead friends, dead family. But I still got them. And I'll keep getting them, whether I win or lose. I will still lose someone." Harry lowered his eyes and came face to face with his reflection, darkened by the table's ebony glass. "Now with everyone gone… didn't seem worth the trouble. Sitting in Dumbledore's funeral –" Draco snatched his glass " – was a right pain. 'He was a great wizard, a legend, a martyr, a _hero_.' That's all they kept saying… They were there for the wrong reasons. It only mattered to them what Dumbledore did during the war, what he did to go against Voldemort, what he did for _them_. And I knew that that's how they saw my parents, Cedric, Sirius… And that's all I was ever going to be, all I was ever going to be known for, to be remembered by. The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One.

"I gave it a lot of thought afterwards. Then it dawned to me… It wasn't my problem to bother with. It never was. I wasn't meant for it because I never wanted it. All of this; Voldemort, the war, saving the world… they were all shoved down my throat even before I could swallow. Why should I even consider being a part of it even? I've lost everyone I could fight for. Ron and Hermione… they've got each other. They've got families. Ginny… She'd managed five years without me, what's a lifetime? But what do I have…? All that's left is that damn prophecy. And Voldemort. So it's pretty much as good as having nothing at all. So I thought I'd be selfish and mind myself for once. To hell with the rest of the world. First, I thought of flying my broom as high as I can and jump, or cast the Killing Curse against a mirror and have it backfire, or even shove a knife on my chest and die the muggle way just to piss Voldemort off… But it didn't seem enough, committing suicide just didn't seem to do the trick. So why not have Voldemort do the honours?

"Blimey, if I had the choice, I'd switch places with Neville if I could…" The room was still silent, only it was twice as deafening. Harry scanned his mirror self on the table and, finally, saw genuine unhappiness sketching his face.

The courage that had brought him to this room with this company and gave him the words to speak his confession had been drained entirely. Harry could not lift his eyes, the risk of seeing faces of enemies in triumph or sympathizers in pity were too great.

"Had I heard this in another setting, Potter, I'd be indulging in your moment of weakness without a second glance." Snape's voice was pitiless and it comforted Harry to no end, it frightened him, only a bit.

"Bet you would." Harry muttered. Snape pulled out his wand and Harry was nearly expecting a hex to pay for that remark till a vial appeared before him. It was as clear as water that Harry nearly thought the container empty.

"If you don't believe me –"

"It isn't Veritaserum. Idiot boy."

"There are other ways to kill –"

"As much as the opportunity tempts me, it's not poison."

"What –"

"Do you truly expect an answer, Potter?" Snape arched a brow.

"Just drink it. It'll help you sleep." Draco said. His voice sounded foreign, there was no malice at all. The blond didn't spare him a look even as Harry gazed at him with full force. He turned to Snape and saw his eyes narrow disapprovingly at Draco, as though he'd completely spoiled a brilliant joke.

"I'm not staying here." Harry said defiantly.

"You have _no_ choice." Harry growled. Snape smirked.

Before Harry could think of grabbing his wand, his body stiffened and slumped on the glass table. Harry watched, with immobile eyes, Draco stand up and leave the room, a wand on hand.

Draco had not reached far when Harry's body began to move on its own. Harry could hear Snape chant. The spell seated him upright till his vision, partly clear and blurred from his broken glasses, caught Snape waving his hand. The man's eyes remained cold as the vial drowned its content on Harry's throat.

* * *

Reviews and criticism are encouraged.


End file.
